Letters To Clove
by Athena Writer 24601
Summary: It's after the Hunger Games, and Clove and Cato are more distanced than ever. Clove's plagued by nightmares and really needs Cato. Cato wants to regain their friendship but isn't sure how. Maybe, they can be close again-and it all starts with the letters he wrote her.
1. Chapter 1

**YAY! I should probably be studying for my semester finals, but I decided to start writing this baby instead! I know the characters are a little OOC, (out of character) but if you read my other story, The Girl the World Forgot:Clove's Story you'll understand and get them a little better. So as you might've guessed, Clove and Cato won instead of Katniss and Peeta (boo hoo :( There was no nightlock, as Clove and Cato weren't star crossed lovers or anything, so the Capitol decided to let them live, I guess. Exact details will not be included. **

**I plan to update soon, but will not unless I get at least 3-5 reviews! I'm not trying to be picky, people, but if you bother to add me to your Favorites or Story Alerts you must have time to give me a short review! I don't CARE what it says, any review is better than no review. Heck, I dare someone to leave me a review with a short, random word like TACOS! Or something. Hehe. **

**Anyways, thanks so much to everyone who reads my stories! I love you guys! I just want to, like, eat you out of love. (I eat things I love. Like cupcakes. I'm not fat though, don't worry. :) **

**Love, Anna**

**PS sadly, I do not own the Hunger Games. And thank you for reading this long author's note. **

Chapter 1

Cato's POV

I stare blankly out the window, wondering what she's doing. It's far past midnight, so I can only hope she's sleeping. However, knowing Clove, she's either thrashing around from nightmares or sitting awake, alone, afraid to go to sleep and trying to get the horrible visions out of her mind. I'm luckier than her, because I only have nightmares once or twice a week, and I can easily wake from them. Clove is plagued by them every night. I can see the light on in her house; hear her screams. Whenever I do get a glance of her she has shadows under her eyes and a wild look in them. I want to go comfort her, help her, take care of her. I can't, though. Not with everything that happened.

We've been so distanced since the Games. I think she's still afraid of me, after what I did. I don't blame her, though, not one bit. Sometimes I even feel dangerous in my own skin. Like any moment I'll go off again, kill more people.

I hope she's doing alright. The last I saw her, a week or two ago, she didn't look like she'd eaten or slept much at all. I tried to talk with her, to give her comfort, but she recoiled at my touch, a look of fear on her face. It's awful, how afraid she is of me. I won't ever be able to erase that mental picture of her horrified face as I killed both the tributes from 12. The way she backed away from me, scared, even as they made the announcement and crowned us victors. How distanced she was on the victory tour, flinching when I was close to her.

I did it so we could win, so we could go home. But maybe that wasn't the right thing to do. They had people who loved and needed them. Everdeen had that sister, the tiny blonde girl who clung to her as she volunteered. Mellark was such a nice guy that he must've had lots and lots of people who cared. So what did I do, out of selfishness? I brutally killed them, in front of Clove, as they screamed and begged for mercy. I'll never forget the look on Clove's face.

I hear her voice inside my head—her sweet, gentle that was telling me the truth, the truth that hurt.

"The Games corrupted you, Cato," she'd told me softly. "We were all changed by them, but they turned you into a monster." Then she'd walked away, taking my heart with her.

I want that friendship back so badly, but some things will never be the same. How can they?

I hear a faint scream, see her light flick on, her petite figure pacing the room. She's too young for all these nightmares, too young to have experienced such horrible things brought on by the Games. She's fourteen, for God's sake. She shouldn't have to put up with this. I'm almost eighteen and can deal, but Clove? She doesn't deserve it.

How can I become her friend again? Be the little boy who helped her up when she fell and threatened the older ones who were mean to her? It had always seemed like nothing could get in our way.

Of course, that was in the old days, before the Reaping. Before the Games.

My eyes fall on my desk, where a box of empty stationary and a pen are sitting. In the half-light, they seem almost eerie, beckoning me over with dark shadows.

I slowly walk over and sit down. I pick up the pen and stare at the paper for awhile, knowing this is either a ridiculously smart or unbelievably stupid move.

I smooth the paper and begin writing.

_Dear Clove…_

**Clove's POV **

Cato's on top of me, strangling me, choking the life out of my body like he did with the tribute from 10. I can't move, and my body's being burned by something. I realize I'm being pinned to a bed of fire.

I sit upright, a scream escaping my burning throat. Coughing from the fire and smoke that are leftovers of my nightmare, I spring out of bed and punch my light switch on. I squint at the sudden brightness as I carefully cross the room to inspect my mattress, ensure that there are no dying embers.

My fingers go to my throat, double-checking that Cato's fingers are no longer locked around it. I let out a deep breath and sink back to my bed.

I go through this every night. Wake up, panicked, expecting to still be on the brink of death. I pace in my near-hysteria state until I am able to calm down. If I can fall back asleep, I will undoubtedly be attacked by another swarm of bad dreams. If I can't, I will lay there till morning. Thus, the reasons for the circles under my eyes.

I glance across the street to see that Cato's bedroom light is on, too. I think I see his shadow watching me, and quickly duck away from the window. I can't trust him, not after what he did.

We'd promised each other we would remain ourselves during the Games, only kill when necessary and not go looking for prey. We had resorted to quick kills, nearly painless ones.

I'm not sure if Cato did it for the audience, or if he was so crazed he didn't know what he was doing. All I know is what a monster he became as he slaughtered both of 12's tributes, brutally and mercilessly.

I think back to that fight we had, weeks ago when he'd come to my house to try and apologize. We were never anything much, just a close, sibling-like relationship, but we would fight like an old married couple. It's funny because we never dated, never liked each other. But he'd come over, come anyways.

"Clove," he'd started. "Can't we please just go back to the old times?"

"No." I said shortly, staring out the window. I just wanted him to leave, to let me deal with the pain alone. I wasn't ready to be talking with him.

"Look, I'm sorry! I just want to be your friend again! It would just be normal again, like—"

"Don't you dare tell me how _normal _everything would be, Cato Stone! Don't you even _dare_! How could you, after everything that happened? There's no way it could be the same, no way _any _aspect of life would be perfect again!" I screamed.

His face was heartbroken. "I'm sorry." He moved to comfort me, to hug me like before.

"Don't _touch_ me!" I shouted. "You think you can just—just be nice again! But what happens when it comes down to the end? Are you going to murder me, like Katniss and Peeta? Like the two star-crossed, innocent lovers from District 12 who had a whole _life_ ahead of them?"

"Clove—"

"Get out," I said, tears running freely down my face. "Get out, before you hurt me even more. I'm just trying to protect us."

I'm not sure, but I think I saw him crying as he left, too, that night. I slammed the door behind him and broke down, sunk to the floor, sobbing. I thought that in the long run, this would be easier for us both. Better to experience pain to prevent more.

I wish that night would've gone differently, but there's no changing that now.

I jump as a knock from downstairs echoes in the house. It's a big Victor's house, so it's a wonder I can even hear it from all the way on the second floor, shut up in my room. But I can, so I tiptoe down the soft velvet stairs and open the door. Who on earth would come knocking at two in the morning?

A light breeze blows in my face, making me shiver. There's no one here, so I think maybe I'm hallucinating. However, just as I turn the knob to shut the door again, I catch sight of a small white envelope at my feet, stuck in the doorframe.

I bend to pick it up, and shut the door. I slid to sit on the ground, catching my breath as I saw the front.

It read _Clove_, in the thick handwriting I recognized as none other than Cato Stone's.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, dear readers! ****rubs hands together evilly***** What brings you here today? **

**My wonderful stories, of course! So I only got two reviews, but lots and lots of people put me on Story Alerts, Favorite Author List, Author Story Alert, etc, so I decided to let it slide. However, please, please review! THIS IS ALL I ASK OF YOU! **

**You should also be proud because I'm on vacation in Michigan, at my grandma's house, but I'm STILL updating. How's that for devoted, peeps? **

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**A big thanks to Unicornlady17 who put me on Author Alerts and everything else possible. That's a devoted reader, right there. *****Nods head appreciatively*******

**Unicornlady17, you get a cookie! Yay! Here you are! **

**Sadly I don't own the Hunger Games. *****throws dart at picture of Suzanne Collins***** **

**Enjoy! :D **

Letters To Clove

Chapter 2

Clove's POV

I stare at the letter, my hands shaking. What could he have written me? I brace myself for the possibilities as I sit in a chair and open it. Unfolding the letter and smoothing out the creases, I bite my lip and begin to read.

_Dear Clove,_

_ I'm sorry for everything. I truly am. I don't expect you to ever forgive me, and that's okay._

_ I'm sorry for turning into such a monster in the arena. For scaring you like that. I really regret it. I didn't realize at the time that I was being selfish. We're supposed to kill in the Games, that's what they want, but I shouldn't have done what I did. _

_ I'm sorry for our fight, that day weeks ago. I don't know why I thought everything could be the same again. I see now that you were right, like you always are. _

_ I can't say enough how much I miss being your friend. Do you remember before the Games when we were children, young and innocent? I remember the day we swore we'd never leave each other. I guess even the greatest things in life are lost sometimes. _

_ What made me write you this letter? Maybe it's because I don't want to acknowledge the fact that we've lost our bond. That everything good in my life is now gone. It's not your fault, it really isn't. If anything I'm the one to blame, for all the vicious things I did in the arena against your wishes. I'm sorry. _

_ I don't know if you'll even read this. I wouldn't blame you if you threw it away the second you recognized my handwriting. I think I may write you more, though. It helps me to write them, to have the vain hope that maybe someday you'll forgive me, though you probably won't. But I'll keep dreaming. _

_ Yours truly,_

_ Cato Stone_

Tears are running down my face. _I'm sorry, Cato. I'm so, so sorry. _I feel so stupid and helpless, full of mixed and conflicted feelings. Am I selfish, for blocking out Cato just because he did something necessary for our survival? I was only trying to protect us both by not being near him. I thought that by distance, there would be less pain. Now I am starting to doubt that decision. Maybe I was wrong.

But I can't talk or write to Cato. Not yet. I'm definitely not ready for that. All I've ever don was try to block out the pain, and I don't want to risk is getting to me again. Not after how hard I've worked to escape it.

Still, as I trudge back upstairs, something inside me feels guilt—and slight obligation—that I should do something. But I ignore it and plunk into bed again.

I don't sleep at all for the rest of the night.

**CATO'S POV **

I'm so thankful when morning finally comes and I can get out of the house. I eat a hurried breakfast and rush out the door, eager to get into town. There are errands to run, supplies to buy. All the activities and letter-writing of last night are pushed into the back of my mind. I have other things to worry about, don't I?

The first stop is the bakery. We actually have a pretty decent one in 2, but I've heard the bakery in 12 is really good.

A sudden stab of guilt shoots through me as I remember that Peeta Mellark, 12's tribute, used to run the bakery with his family.

Until I killed him.

I sit down on the bench right outside the shop, trying so desperately to move that thought into the part of my brain that hides memories, things I don't want to see. I try so hard, but the picture of myself killing him keeps surfacing like a sea monster.

I bury my head in my hands and squeeze my eyes shut. Right now I really don't care what the townspeople think. One of the victors of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, reduced to fighting memories off on the side of the street. I know I must look pathetic, but it doesn't seem to matter right now.

I hear shuffling beside me, but don't react until I hear a tentative voice that I would know anywhere.

"Cato?"


	3. Chapter 3

**HOORAY AND HOOPLAH! IT'S CHAPTER THREE! **

**I hope you enjoy. Please review and I'll update sooner!**

**Sadly I don't own the Hunger Games. If I did I would kidnap Peeta and we'd be married happily ever after. Then I'd punish Gale to the Island of Forever Alone. And then…**

**Well, enough of my diabolical world domination plan. But if you want to hear more about it then LEAVE ME A REVIEW! **

**And now, the story. Enjoy! **

Letters To Clove

Chapter 3

Cato's POV

"Cato?"

My head shoots up. Standing before me is Clove, looking scared. She's wearing casual clothes that are slightly wrinkled. There's dark circles under her eyes and a slightly vacant look in them. She's even thinner than I last saw her, and this makes me worried. Has she even eaten at all?

My concerns must appear on my face, because Clove sighs and says, "I'm fine, Cato."

"You don't look like you've slept or eaten for the past week." I tell her, rubbing my eyes. Neither of us mentions the letter.

"I can't sleep and I'm never hungry," she shoots back, crossing her arms.

I'm pretty sure the latter is a lie, but I know her pride is just getting in the way of her admitting that she can't bring herself to eat, not when so many others can't. The dead tributes haunt us both.

She brushes some hair out of her face. Clove has thick, dark hair that never stays where it's supposed to. Even our stylists in the Games were irritated.

I can see why she's out and about. The weather's nice, the first sunny day in a while. There's some threatening rain clouds, but the sun still shines beautifully from the east.

Like her, I feel trapped and endangered if I'm shut in my house during the day. I can pretend I won't have to return to my bed that night, to face the nightmares.

"So…" I trail off awkwardly. Clove develops a sudden interest in her shoes, kicking them in the dirt. "How are you?"

She rolls her eyes. "Seriously? Are you _really _going to ask me that when you know perfectly well what the answer is?"

"I guess not," I mutter. "Sorry."

I see something cross her face—a ghost of a smile, maybe, a shadow of joy—but it's gone instantly and she quickly regains her bored, blocked-out expression.

"What are you doing today?" she says, and I realize this is the first real, civilized conversation we've had since the Games were over. It's a short and awkward one, but it's definitely a start.

"Errands." I state, and then regret it for making such a short, closed-off response. I quickly struggle to elaborate. "I have to shop. I'm going to the bakery. I hear it's almost better than the one in Twelve…"

One look at her face and I know instantly I've said the wrong thing. She hates it when someone brings up anything to do with the Games.

"Well, then," she says coldly. "Enjoy your errands."

"Clove!" I half-yell as she turns and starts to leave, grabbing her arm like I would do if we were normal friends, before the Games. But once again, I've done the wrong thing.

"Don't _touch _me!" she screams and smacks my hand away. People are starting to stare.

She storms down the street and out of sight, leaving me with a guilty feeling, all errands forgotten.

As she turns a corner, I think I see a tear fall from her eye.

**CLOVE'S POV **

I rush into an alley and collapse, sobbing. Why can't we just be normal after the Games? Can't the Capitol leave us with our friendship, as they've taken everything else? Do they have to break our bond, too?

I'd really been trying hard to keep our conversation going. I was pleased at our first regular conversation, as the last time we'd talked I'd screamed at him and thrown him out of my house.

Why is it that every time we talk to each other, I always end up crying?

It starts to rain, and I cry harder because the sun's gone away, hidden once again in the clouds. The first sunny day in weeks, ruined.

I look up at the ugly gray clouds as they continue to pour on me. Before I know it I'm soaked, my sopping hair sticking to my face. I wrap my arms tight around my torso and realize that Cato's right, I really am starved. I can feel and count my ribs, see how thin and hollow my cheeks are in the puddles that are forming on the street. The sky's completely gray now, and the temperature's dropped rapidly. I shiver and tighten my jacket, pushing my hair away from my eyes.

When I finally feel able, I stand up and stumble through the muddy streets as it pours harder. I slip several times and scrape my hands and knees.

At last, I reach home. I stagger through the door and fall to the ground. I'm soaked and bleeding and muddy, so I half-crawl, half-walk to the shower. I strip off my muddy clothes and turn on the hot water, scrubbing the dirt and blood from my skin. I realize this is the first shower I've had for a while.

I towel off and bandage my scrapes, slipping into some clean clothes. It's still pouring outside, and the violent thunder scares me.

As I arrive downstairs, I see that another letter is waiting for me, slid through the doorframe.


	4. Chapter 4

**HELLO, lovely readers! Thanks to all you lovely folks who reviewed, like narwhal-luv and AlejandraMartinez! You two are so sweet! Also, thanks to LiveForMex3 and Mockingjay200 for other reviews. LOVE YOU ALL! KEEP REVIEWING! **

**Hope you like, please review. Don't worry, the next chapter will have some interaction between them:D**

**Love, Anna**

Letters To Clove

Chapter 4

Clove's POV

I don't think Cato meant it, but the letter he wrote me today only increases the number and horror of my nightmares. I wake up constantly, screaming, turning the light on to reassure myself, reaffirm my sanity. It's a wonder I haven't lost my mind yet.

On the third or fourth nightmare, I go back downstairs to reread the letter. It's shorter than the first, but it gets right to the point.

_Clove, _

_ I'm really sorry about today. I shouldn't have mentioned the bakery in 12, and I wasn't paying attention and did anyways. _

_ I know you like to hide your pain, bury it in the back of your mind and pretend it isn't there. I try to face the pain and get it over with. I find it works better than keeping those horrible things hidden in the dark corners of your mind. _

_ Maybe you should consider doing this. I want to help you, but I don't really think you want it. If you do, though, let me know. I'm always here for you. _

_ Yours truly,_

_ Cato Stone _

For some reason, the first time I read the letter, earlier this evening, it'd stirred up all the bad things I'd tried to forget and they'd reappeared in my nightmares. Now, as I look at it again, I see he's right. Keeping and hiding poison in your body only hurts you more than getting it out.

He's right, but that doesn't mean I want to do what he suggests.

**CATO'S POV**

Did I do the right thing by being honest? I'm really worried I have just made everything worse by telling her what I think. She's just being hurt more by storing her pain, trying to act like it's invisible.

Of course, I don't sleep at all that night. I just sit awake and stress about the letter I wrote her.

When will we ever be normal friends again? I'll settle for anything close to that, really. I just hate this fragile, broken relationship we have. Whenever we talk to each other, Clove always runs away crying. It's a horrible feeling, knowing that I'm the only one who caused her tears.

Her tears remind me of a time long before the Games, when she'd been so broken, just like she was now. Only the pain wasn't so deep. It was close, though.

She was about eleven or twelve, and I was around fifteen. I was worried about her, because I'd been hearing talk in the Market about the how it that day was Trill Muller's birthday.

Trill Muller was Clove's older sister, but she died in the sixty-eighth Hunger Games. She had been fifteen, and Clove was about five.

Trill was a really sweet girl—my older brother had known her before he moved to another district—and her parents adored her. So naturally, when she died, her parents were heartbroken.

But they didn't act like normal parents would mourn. Instead, they neglected and abused Clove. The abuse got steadily worse over the years, but it was the most horrible on the annual coming of Trill's would-be birthday.

It was early in the morning, in November. The seventeenth, if I remember correctly. But Trill would have been twenty one.

I was up early, knowing Clove would probably need a place to stay until the day had passed. The abuse was bad, but it wasn't so horrible that they'd broken her spirit. I loved her spirit, her joy. She wouldn't let them hurt it.

Until that one day, when they'd hit a chink in her armor and she'd shattered.

I heard glass breaking and screaming from down the street. Clove lived across the street and a few houses over. I ran to the window in time to see Clove come flying out a window as it shattered. I heard her father yelling from inside.

I rushed outside to her, where she lay, broken and bloody. I gathered her up and took her inside my home, and I held her while she cried. After she was finished, I bandaged her up and tried talking with her, to comfort her. But she didn't respond, just stared off into space and shivered.

That's when I really got worried. "What happened, Clove?" I asked her softly, putting a blanket over her shoulders.

"He—he…" she said shakily. I knew that by he she meant her father.

She couldn't get anything out. She pulled the blanket over her head and started sobbing again. So I simply held her, horrified by whatever had happened.

Clove never told me what happened that day, but I had a pretty good idea. Her father was a horrible person, a violent drunkard. He could've done any number of things and gotten away with it.

The state she's in now kind of reminds me of that day years ago. For weeks after that she would still look frightened. She'd wince whenever I touched her, like she was afraid I'd hit her, or worse. She wouldn't hug me, and avoided most people like the plague. She stayed at my house for a while, and I was the only one she'd talk to. And she wouldn't even say much to me.

The problem is—how can I fix her? What is there to do that will make her unbroken again? Is it even possible?

I guess I'll have to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

**OMG! I got more reviews! **

**You guys are sooo amazing! I couldn't ask for better fans. AlejandraMartinez is so sweet, she (I'm assuming it's a girl but please don't be offended if I'm wrong!) reviews for almost every chapter! And narwhal-luv is one of my bffs **

**Thanks! Please review! :D **

Letters To Clove

Chapter 5

Clove's POV

I set the letter down and eventually go back to bed. I fall asleep and have the most horrible nightmare I've had in years.

Cato's being tortured by my parents—my terrible, abusive parents I am so afraid of. They're cutting him and slicing him, like the way Trill was killed in the Games.

"Now we're even," they're sneering as he screams in pain. "You were never as good as Trill. This is revenge for what a bad daughter you were."

Cato's calling my name, begging me for help—but I can't save him. I'm tied down, and when I struggle the binds cut me. "I thought you were my friend," he cries. His face is horrible and bloody, like in the Games when he finished off the other tributes.

He screams, writhing, choking on his own blood. "Cato!" I scream, tugging on the chains around my wrists and legs. "Cato!"

"C-Clove…" he says. And he slumps over dead.

"NO!" I shriek. "Cato!"

I jackknife into an upright position in my bed, scrambling out to flick on the lights. I'm sweating and panting and shaking, rubbing my eyes to try and remove that image.

I'm really still out of it, exhausted. So I can't be sure if Cato's okay. Maybe I was just seeing it as it was happening and I couldn't do anything because I wasn't really there.

I'm so worried I almost throw up. I half-fall, half-run downstairs and before I know it, I'm outside.

I must look like a lunatic, sprinting barefoot over to Cato's house in the dead of night. My hair's a mess, I'm too skinny and I have ragged circles beneath my eyes. Not to mention I'm calling, "Cato!" before I even reach his door.

I pound on his door. "Cato!" I screech. I'm about to pass out. What if he's dead? What if—

"Clove?" A very sleepy-looking Cato opens the door. "It's like three in the—"

I cut him off as I hug him tight, tears leaking out of my eyes. I quickly pull back and check him arms and face for cuts, blood, scars.

They aren't there.

"You're okay," I say breathlessly.

He looks confused, and frowns. "Of course I'm okay, Clove. I've been sleeping. Some people actually sleep, you know."

I look down at my feet, ashamed for being so stupid. Of course he's fine.

"Yeah—uh, of course. Just checking." I stutter.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It was just a nightmare," I say, gathering the strength to meet his sleepy eyes.

His face softens. "Oh."

Without another word, I turn and run off. I don't know where I'm going, but I pass my house. I'm running again, like a crazy person. I'm reminded of the girl from Four, a fragile little thing named Annie Cresta, who won the Games a few years back. She went nuts after the Games. Went into shock, kind of, and never recovered.

I don't notice the electric fence until it's right in front of me. It lines the mountain property, limits civilian access. It surrounds the mountains that are mined for stone and other masonry materials. You can only enter if you're a worker.

I slam into it and scream as a shock goes through my body and the barbed wire pierces my skin. I tumble and my back slips against it, cutting me deeper as I cry out. I collapse to the ground, shaking, as the darkness takes me and I black out.

**CATO'S POV**

I stare after Clove as she sprints away. I'm worried about her, I really am. First she runs off crying after I saw her in town. Now she shows up in the middle of the night, hugs me and tells me that I'm okay like something terrible has happened, and the runs away again.

And I'm concerned because she didn't go to her house. She went way past it and out of sight, almost to the mines. Where'd she go?

I tell myself she's fine and go back to bed. But I don't sleep much.

Morning comes, and I'm relieved as always. I sit at my kitchen table and eat breakfast, reading the newspaper and occasionally checking the television for district updates.

I jump as someone knocks on my door. Part of me wants to think it's Clove, but it's much too strong and loud to be her. Clove knocks tentatively, and even last night when it was urgent her banging was relatively soft.

So I'm not surprised when I open the door to find Enobaria, who was one of Clove and I's mentor for the Hunger Games.

She's a thin, worn, older woman, but she still looks fierce and strong, like in her Games she won by ripping out throats when she was sixteen.

She frowns, looking urgent. "Clove's not here?"

"What? No. Why would she be here?" I ask.

Enobaria looks irritated. "She checks in every morning at the market with me. Says hi, so I can make sure she isn't starving herself or anything of the sort. She didn't. She was supposed to see me hours ago. She wasn't at her place, so I thought maybe she'd be here.

Now probably isn't the best time to bring up the situation of Clove and I's rocky relationship. I glance over to her house and see that she is indeed not there.

Panic begins to set in. "She ran off last night, past her house. I haven't seen her since."

She scowls. "Come on then, boy. Let's go see if we can find her."

I follow her out the door, an awful feeling already sinking in.


	6. Chapter 6

**The chapter you've all been waiting for! Chapter 6! I hope you enjoy and please review! Also thanks to everyone else who reviewed. **

**These next two weeks are crazy for me so please don't expect too many updates. I'm going to camp next week so that's NO updates for a week….tear:( But when I get back from camp I expect lots and lots of reviews! **

**Thanks! Love, Anna:D **

Letters To Clove Chapter 6

Cato's POV

We search the whole town, asking if anyone has seen Clove. They frown and say no, that they haven't seen her in ages.

"Poor girl's just about lost it," muttered one woman as she shut her door.

"Where would she be?" I cry in frustration as we reach the end of town.

Enobaria shrugs. "I can only think of the quarry and the mines, but they're surrounded by a heavily fortified fence. Can't really see it at all during the night. Hate to run into that."

I stare at her, my heart dropping into my chest. "Oh, no."

I walk as fast as I can, because Enobaria's pretty old and I don't want to run off and leave her.

As we approach the quarry, I see her small, limp form collapsed by the fence. "Oh, my God. Oh, Clove," I murmur. I rush to her and pull her into my arms, brushing her hair out of her face. She's bloody, her clothes tattered. She unnaturally cold, and I feel panic and horror until I press my fingers to her neck and find a faint pulse.

I let out a sigh of relief, and turn to Enobaria. "Will she be okay?"

"Mmm," she grunts, nodding. "If she's gotta pulse now then she won't be going anywhere. Take her to your place, take care of her for a while. Might bring you two closer," She winks and adds, "I'll drop off some medical supplies and help you out in a little while. Right now just get her bandaged and in bed."

"Okay. Thanks," I tell her. She nods and walks off.

I carefully gather Clove in my arms and set off for home. I arrive at my house and bring her inside, gently setting her on my couch.

I drag a chair up and cover the worst of her cuts with medical salve and bandage them. Then I cover her with a blanket, as she's shivering. Her back is lacerated; cut so deeply by the barbed wire that I can only imagine the pain she's in. She was shocked by the fence and sliced by the wire, knocked into an unconscious world of darkness and pain.

I sit and stare at her guiltily. How could I have let this happen? This is all my fault. I should've stopped her when she ran off, comforted her from her nightmare. What's wrong with me?

Clove lets out a moan and shifts a little on the couch, wincing in pain. I press my hands into my temples and close my eyes. My fault, my fault.

"Cato?"

**CLOVE'S POV **

I blink awake and gingerly sit up, aware of the stinging pain in my back and arms. My head hurts, and when I move too suddenly pain shoots through my body. My arms and legs feel slightly numb, and I remember with bitterness the electric shock the fence gave me. There are bandages on my arms and wrapped around my torso.

Cato's sitting in a chair next to me. I'm on a couch—his couch, I realize—and I am also in his house. He looks exhausted, his hands held to his temples, his head slumped in defeat.

"Cato?" I say sleepily.

He looks up suddenly. A tired half-smile appears on his face. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," I say honestly, and the small joy I'd seen in his expression vanishes.

"Clove, I'm so sorry," he says.

I stare at him, surprised. "For what? If anything I'm the one to blame, for being stupid and running off at three in the morning."

He shakes his head. "No, you're not. I should've been more understanding. I should've tried to stop you when you ran off, or followed you. This never would have happened.

He has this horrible look of anguish on his face, and it makes me feel awful that he think this is _his _fault. It's mine, though, obviously. "Cato, I don't blame you one bit. You're the one who found me, right?"

"Well, yeah…"

"So there's nothing to be sorry about. I owe you."

He sighs like he's not quite happy with this, but he nods anyway. "Alright. And you should probably stay here for a week or two."

I cough and then flinch as pain throbs in my torso. Must've damaged my ribs or something. "Okay."

"Enobaria will be over in a little while to check you out," Cato tells me after a few minutes. "You probably need stitches."

I groan. "This is going to be a long week."

Cato laughs. "Don't worry. I'll stay here with you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! I'm so sorry for the long wait—I was at camp and also had a writer's block for this story. The good news is I started two new stories that will be posted soon, and also I had a good idea for this chapter, which I typed on my new ipad. Haha. **

**Thanks to all my devoted fans, especially AlejandraMartinez (who reviews for almost every chapter) and narwhal-luv. Love u guys! **

**Please review! And new ideas for future chapters are always welcome! **

**Love, Anna**

Letters To Clove

Chapter 7

CLOVE'S POV

About a day or two later, as Cato and I are sitting at his kitchen table talking, the phone rings. Cato stands to go pick it up.

"Hello?" he asks. "Yes. No. Really? I don't think that's a good idea."

I turn and stare at him. He mouths "_the Capitol" _and I nod gravely.

What do they want? Why can't victors just live in peace? There's still another six or seven months until the next Games, and I can hardly bear to think about how I'll have to mentor two tributes. In the least, one of them will die. There will be no more rule changes.

Finally Cato hangs up. I get to my feet quickly. "What do they want?" I ask immediately.

"You're not gonna like it."

"What?"

"They want us to come for interviews and some other things."

"_What_?" I sputter. "No! We can't! I mean-I-I can't. I just can't go back there and-"

"Clove, calm down," Cato interrupts gently, putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay."

I take a deep breath. "No, it's not."

"It will be."

"I don't want to go." I say firmly, crossing my arms like a four-year-old. "No way."

He sighs. "You have to."

"But..." I say, trying to think of excuses. "But I'm still injured! Don't they know that?"

"No, but honestly I doubt they care. It's unfair, but we have to go." Cato says.

I bite my lip, my breaths quickening as I panic, thinking of the Capitol with its bright lights and horrid, spoiled people and its ever-present reminder of the Games. The nightmare I'd tried so hard to forget.

Flashes from the Games fill my vision. Glimmer, Foxface, Marvel, the girl from 4, the two star-crossed lovers from District 12, the tiny, innocent girl from 11. They had full lives ahead of them, as did all the other dead tributes.

I realize I'm crying and practically hyperventilating. Cato looks extremely concerned.

"Hey," he says softly, leaning down to look me straight in the eyes. He wipes a tear away and holds my face in his hands. "It'll be okay, alright? I'll be with you. Nothing bad will happen."

I sniff and nod. He puts his arms around me. It would be okay. I believe him.

I don't know how wrong I am.

**********************page break***********************

CATO'S POV

We walk to the train station nearly a week later, carrying our suitcases and accompanied by Brutus and Enobaria (they were coming too, for additional interviews as the mentors). I can tell how nervous Clove is by the way she walks quickly, avoiding everyone's gaze. As we stand waiting for the next train, I can even see her shaking. She's pale, her jaw clenched tightly.

The long, silver, sleek train pulls up, and attendants jump out to take our luggage and direct us to our seats. Being victors, we get an extremely high-class compartment with rich, lavish accessories. Really, I'd just be happy to sit in the coach, with all the other low-class civilians. But of course, we are only given the best. The luxury of it all makes me sick.

The train takes off minutes later, faster than possible, it seems. But it's modern Capitol technology, so it has obviously been updated in the five months since the Games.

Clove sits stiffly in the velvet seat beside me, staring straight ahead and out the windows at the mountains that surround District 2. I want to comfort her, make sure she's alright, but I figure she won't appreciate it right now, not in front of all these people. There's Brutus and Enobaria, and a lot of other Capitol people who are watching us like hawks, monitoring our every move.

Why? Why is it so important what we do? The Games are over; sure, there's the Quarter Quell, but that is in about half a year. Six months or so. Why are we even doing interviews? I have so many questions, but I feel this isn't the time to ask.

I hope President Snow isn't upset about how the Gamemakers let us both live. I know he killed Seneca Crane minutes after we won, but he didn't do anything to us. He let us live in peace.

Perhaps to build us into a trap. Let us think we were off easy, and now his revenge plot is in action.

I search around for clues of this conspiracy theory. Brutus' face is it's usual emotionless, blank slate, but Enobaria wears grave expression. Does she know something we don't?

We pass through the sparkling District 1, and with a pang I'm reminded of Marvel and Glimmer. They were decent people who certainly didn't deserve their horrible deaths. Marvel was shot through the neck, and Glimmer was tortured and stung to death by tracker jackers. If Clove and I were in agony from three or four stings, I can only imagine the pain her dozens of stings caused before she died.

It had also seemed as if they liked each other; maybe one day they would've gotten married, had kids and been good to them. All that came to a crashing halt when they were killed.

Apparently Clove's mind is on the same subject, because her face is pained as she grips the seat cushions, biting her lip, her eyes dark.

I wonder how she'll take this week full of interviews and who knows what else. She's been better-sleeping more than usual, actually eating-and I managed to piece her back together, at least partially. Reliving the Games will only break her down again, and I definitely don't want that.

Hours later, the train pulls in front of the Capitol. Silently, we stand and exit the train. But it's not until I hear Clove's muffled cry that I turn quickly, knowing something bad was happening.

A guard had clamped his hand over Clove's mouth as others grabbed her, pulling her away. At the same time, I feel rough hands grab me from behind.

White-clad Peacekeepers are arresting us, taking us away. I struggle against them, but there's too many. They're pulling me backwards, away from the train, away from Clove.

Clove bites the guard's hand and rips free momentarily. "Cato!" she screams as they grab her again and drag her to a black car, shoving her inside. "Cato!"

"Clove!" I yell as they put me into a similar car, with dark windows so I can't see out of them. I'm pushed inside as I desperately try to escape.

The last thing I see before the door slams shut is Enobaria's sad, old face as she mouths, "_I'm sorry._"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey! I know I said a while ago that there were no nightlock berries in Clove and Cato's Games, but I changed it a bit to make this mystery a little clearer and to make more sense. They're not and never were in love, though. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm going to be gone to Colorado by Saturday for two weeks...but I promise I'll have a chapter ready to post the minute I return! Please review if you like it and new ideas are alway welcome! PS there is some intense violence/torture in this chapter.**

Letters To Clove

Chapter 8

CLOVE'S POV

I pound on the windows, trying to break them down. I see Cato shut into his car as I drive away. I scream his name and struggle as much as possible as the guards pin my arms behind my back.

"Shut up!" one of them yells, slapping me. I scream and another man shoves a gag in my mouth.

My hands are tied and I fall silent. Struggling isn't going to help at all.

What on earth is going on? Obviously this entire thing was a trap. We didn't have a choice to travel for the interviews, which makes it even worse because we couldn't have avoided it even if we knew.

I desperately hope they aren't going to separate us. Where are they taking us, anyway? Hopefully not a prison, but then again, prison would be better than torture.

I've lost sight of the car Cato was in, and I panic. We've arrived in the main part of the city, and it's bustling with activity.

Did anyone else know about this? I picture how carefully everyone on the train was watching us-almost as if we might try to attack and break free at any moment. I see Cato's expression as he sits-the look that was nervous for more than just the interviews. He probably just had a suspicion and never told me. He couldn't in front of all those people, anyways.

Hours pass and I find myself drifting off to sleep. I'm exhausted for some reason, though why, I don't know. Almost all I'd done while recovering at Cato's had been sleeping.

My sleep is filled with nightmares, and when I awake screaming I am punched in the side of the head and told to shut up yet again. This makes me dizzy, and so I bite my lip and sink down in my seat, trying to make myself as small as possible as the Peacekeepers glare at me.

After what seems like an eternity, I feel the car slowing down. I sit up and look out the front window, the one that's not tinted, and am not surprised that it's nighttime. We're in front of a huge, silver building with no windows and a complicated architecture design. It reminds me of the training center before the Games, but I quickly dismiss my stupid thought. Whatever is waiting for us inside the building is far worse than anything the Games could've brought.

The door opens, and rough hands haul me out immediately. I'm hurried inside and then marched through the building. I don't know how many turns we take, how many hallways I see, but before I know it they open a large metal door and lead me inside a room. There's an almost hospital-like white bed in the middle, but one look at the weapons and torture tools on the table beside it and I know I'm not that lucky.

I'm pushed onto the table as I start screaming. My wrists are tied down to the table, a new gag bound around my mouth. I struggle even more as they push a button and raise the top half of the bed so I'm sitting up. As someone clears their throat, I look to see who it is and immediately regret it.

I'm staring into the eyes of President Snow.

CATO'S POV

We arrive at a large building, but I can't get a good look at it before I'm pushed inside. The Peacekeepers practically drag me through the halls, hitting me whenever I protest or try to loosen their iron grip.

They open a white door and shove me in. I trip over one of their feet and go sprawling onto the concrete floor as they chuckle and slam the door shut. I look to be in a prison room, with a metal bed and thin mattress in the corner, a toilet in the other. I am clearly going to be here awhile.

The odd thing is that it's a nicer room, with white walls and what looks like a window on one of them. Perhaps it opens for food or something. Hopefully, they'll feed me.

Where is Clove? I don't think they'll give us the small joy of being in the same room-knowing the other is safe is too much relief, not enough torture. She could be in the room beside me, for all I know, wondering where I am. I hope desperately that she's safe, that they'll hurt me instead of her. She's too small and fragile, too easily broken. If she's okay then I'll be able to cope with the pain.

My stomach churns at the thought of what we're here for. Obviously, not interviews. The Capitol's not happy about something, and we're going to find out what exactly pretty soon.

What did Enobaria know that we didn't? Did she know we'd be captured by the grave expression on her face, or did she simply believe something unfortunate would occur? The way she told me she was sorry, as we were taken, made it look like she'd known it all along. But maybe she was sorry she didn't warn us.

My head's spinning from the possibilities, so I sit on the cold bed and rub my temples, trying to organize and sort through my thoughts. However, my organizing is quickly interrupted by a sudden, shrill scream.

Clove's scream.

I stand quickly, not sure what to do. But the first scream is soon followed by another, and I know something really bad is happening.

I rush to the window. Maybe there's guards there that I can yell at, beg to go to her. Not that they'd let me, but I can't just sit and not try.

As I look through, my heart drops. It's not guards. It's a white room, where President Snow is sitting in a chair next to a table.

Tied to the table is Clove.

President Snow is dragging a knife down her arm, hissing things at her as she screams and begs him to stop. She's bloody and pale, and she has fresh bruises and cuts on her face.

"I don't know!" she screams. "Please! I have no idea what you're talking about!" Oddly, I can hear everything they're saying through the glass.

"You're lying," Snow hisses. "You know about the districts' uprising."

"I don't!" she shrieks.

Horrified, I pound on the windows, though what good this will do I'm not sure. Clove looks up quickly and screams, "Cato!"

"Shut up!" Snow yells, striking her across the face with the knife. She cries out in pain again as he lands a punch to her side, and I swear I hear a rib crack. Her face is twisted in agony as she struggles against her restraints.

Snow smiles at me sadistically, and with a cold chill I realize what he's at-he's going to torture us both by inflicting pain on Clove. He knows we don't know anything about the uprising, but he's pretending he doesn't.

Snow presses a button, and an electric shock shoots through Clove's metal restraints. She screams and writhes as I yell and hit the windows. "Stop it!"

It seems like hours pass before he finally stops hurting her and motions to the guards in the corner. They grab her limp form from the table and haul her out of the room.

A few minutes later, I jump as my room door opens and they push Clove in. She collapses on the ground, unconscious, and I rush to her and shake her shoulders.

"Please be okay," I mutter, exhaling once I find her pulse, although it's faint.

Her eyes flutter open. "C-Cato?" she mumbles weakly.

"Oh, God," I say, putting my arms around her gently. I don't care about the blood. "Are you okay?"

As soon as I say it I feel stupid. Of course she's not okay. She's just been tortured for an hour.

Clove must pick up on this, because she manages to roll her eyes and croak, "Yeah. Just wonderful."

She's bruised and bloody and warm, like she has a fever, but she's shivering violently. I tighten my grip on her, rubbing her back. Her cheeks are hollow, because although I was able to get her to eat when she was staying at my house, it didn't help too much and this predicament _really _ isn't helping.

It's also freezing in the room, and as the minutes pass I begin to lose hope that one, we'll escape, and two, that Clove will be okay. Who knows what else they'll do to her, and I can't do a thing about it.

I rip strips of my shirt off and press them to her wounds. Ignoring her protests, I let her sleep in the bed while I lay on the cold floor. In a few minutes, I hear her light breathing that means she's asleep. She looks almost peaceful in her slumber, besides the blood and injuries and unhealthy paleness. I know that this peace will soon be interrupted by nightmares, but for now I just decide to enjoy it. She definitely needs her sleep.

I keep thinking about possible escape plans-attacking the guards, breaking the door down-but none of them seem possible. I'm just desperate. The only way we could get out is if someone came to rescue us-but who would? If there really are rebels and uprising districts, then they could, but they probably don't even know we're here.

Were we the reason the districts are actually fighting back? Because we tried to kill ourselves? Because of how humble we were in the Victory Tour, how we tried to share food with the districts but instead people were shot? Offering help to them was in direct defiance of Capitol rules-but so was Seneca Crane's allowing us to live. He really was supposed to blow us to pieces as soon as Clove held out those nightlock berries. Better no winner than two, apparently.

Whatever the reason is, I do not have any strong feeling that we'll be rescued before we're both broken beyond repair.


	9. Chapter 9

**Helllloooo my dear readers!**

**Well, it is Monday, day two in Colorado. This first week, we won't have any wi fi we're we are staying unless we go into town in a few nice restaurants that provide free wifi. So. **

**Next week we're staying in a different, bigger house, because my cousins are coming down and there is no room in our little condo for them. The second house does have wifi, so I might try to post this on my dad's laptop. I do all my writing on my iPad from the Pages app (which is amazing so all you awesome writers out there should totally get it) because I have a special case with a typing keyboard/keypad thingy. It's just like a laptop, really. You open up the case and prop the iPad up sideways, and BOOM! Instantly Anna's BFF! **

**Well, thanks for all you super devoted fans. I love you lots! **

**My challenge to you is to think of some new story ideas for me! I am currently writing more than I can keep up with but...WHO CARES? I love writing, so what the heck?**

**Thanks to everyone! And PLEASE PLEASE review, I want to try to get 30 or more reviews before I post chapter 10!**

**Sorry you had to read this long author's note. I really think it's the longest I've ever written.**

**Love, **

**Anna:D**

**PS I am soo sorry to leave you with this awful cliffhanger! But more reviews will make me write faster!**

Letters To Clove

Chapter 9

CLOVE'S POV

Surprisingly, we're left alone the next day.

It's a good thing, too, because I'm still feeling awful. I'm unbearably cold, although Cato keeps insisting that it's not cold in this godforsaken cell. I don't really believe him. I have a pounding headache that keeps me from focusing on something for more than five minutes at a time. It's really annoying, not to mention how sore my limbs are. My arm is no longer gushing blood, which is good, but any sudden movement will cause it to start bleeding again.

What piece of hell is in store for us next? More torture? I just hope they don't hurt Cato. That's more than I can bear, I think. At least when I'm being tortured I know he's safe. I know Cato would rather it be him hurt, but I just won't allow that. They'll have to take me instead.

"Clove?" Cato's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Are you listening?"

"Huh?" I mumble, proving that I'm not. I look over at him as he rolls his eyes. He has shadows under them that I haven't noticed before. Must be new. I always have circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. Cato, not so much.

"I was just saying that I don't have any idea what they were talking about. The districts are uprising? That's nuts. Why would they do that?"

I shrug. "I really have no idea. The first time I'd ever heard of it was when President Snow mentioned it."

Cato frowns. "Well, if it's true, and there really is a rebel group or plot or whatever, do you think they know we're here?"

My heart sinks. "Honestly? No. I really hope so, but I don't think we should be deceiving ourselves. It's not going to help."

He nods. "I'm starving."

"Me too," I say, and he gives a dry laugh.

"Clove, with the small amount of food you eat regularly you're _always _hungry."

"So?" I say defensively, but soon I join in too.

It's odd, because here we are in this awful situation with even more torture waiting for us right around the corner. But I suppose that sometimes the worst situations make a person slightly insane.

Another laugh catches in my throat and I start coughing and shivering again. Way to ruin the small, happy moment, I know. Cato pats my back and I look around dizzily as the room begins to rotate and there is no longer one Cato but two or three. His voice sounds distant and choppy, and since I figure I'm safe for now I slump into his chest and pass out.

CATO'S POV

Clove conks out, not having been conscious for even an hour. I'm worried about her. She seemed fine, but I could sense her shivering, see the fatigue in her tortured eyes. I suspect that she was it a lot more pain than she let on.

I scoop her up gently, carefully, and place her in the bed. I brush the hair from her eyes and examine how broken she is.

Her hair's an absolute mess, and her face is streaked with dirt and blood and God knows what else. There's scars and cuts and bruises on her arms and legs, and she really has gotten extremely thin. Not that I probably look any better, but it still concerns me.

The door behind me creaks open, and I whirl around, ready for a fight. I'm not letting them take Clove again. Not a chance. I lunge forward but stop as I see that it's just a frightened servant girl, holding a tray of food.

She sets it on the ground and turns to leave, but I catch her arm and turn her around, trying not to hurt her. I'm mad, but it's not her fault if she's a servant.

"What're they going to do to us?" I demand, shaking her shoulders. "What's their plan?"

She shakes her head, terrified, and tries to pull away. It's only when I see that she's making no attempt to talk, to call for guards, that I realize she's an Avox.

Guilty for trying to make the wordless talk, for being angry at the innocent and helpless, I release my grip on her bony shoulders and mutter, "Sorry."

She nods briefly and scampers off, her red hair flying behind her. I pick up the tray and am about to examine its contents when I realize something.

The door has been left open.

Cautiously, I peer out the door. The hallways are empty, abandoned. The Avox girl must have forgotten, in her fear, to lock the door.

I walk over to Clove's bed quickly, knowing our window of escape is small and we must move fast. "Clove," I say, shaking her awake. "Clove, get up!"

She mumbles something incomprehensible, followed by, "Why?"

"We're getting out of here." I tell her, and that's enough to make her sit up straight. "What?"

"Come on!" I grab her arm and practically drag her out of bed and through the door. She looks bewildered, still dazed.

I'm not sure which hallway is the right one, and it'll be a miracle if we don't get lost in this maze of them. I choose the opposite way the Avox girl went, assuming she wasn't headed towards the exit. I can only hope the entranceway won't be heavily guarded.

I drag Clove through the building, and after a few minutes she becomes more awake and runs alongside me. I am overwhelmed with a sense of adrenaline and fear as we sprint. One guard steps out in front of us and I slam into him, knocking him flat. Clove snatches his gun from him and slams it into his skull. Then she follows after me, still clutching it. Somehow, we haven't managed to part with a small part of our Career training.

We've almost made it. I can see the doors, and I want to dance and celebrate the sweet relief. But first we must get out.

We burst through the metal exit doors, and immediately the daytime air is pierced with shrill sirens and flashing red lights. "Run!" I yell, and although we're already sprinting we somehow increase our speed, filled with panic. I hear guards and Peacekeepers shouting and trampling after us, and almost lose hope completely until we came to the huge, iron gate surrounding the complex that had miraculously been left open.

We run through and are met by the Capitol countryside. It's a rare section of the Capitol that doesn't contain a city with blinding lights; rather, it's a thick forest and a few vast fields. The woods to our right will provide excellent cover and place to hide.

I am about ready to shout out in exhilaration, in joy and freedom, when I hear a sharp gunshot, followed by Clove's shrill scream. I turn to see her, limp and bloody on the ground, as guards swarm her. "No!" I yell, but am cut off as another gunshot hits me in the leg. I yelp in pain and collapse, trying to kick the guards away. "Clove!"

I am hauled up, wincing in pain as blood flows deeply from my calf. I couldn't tell where they shot Clove, but I know I saw a lot of blood. I thrash and try to throw the guards off, but there's too many of them.

I am yanked through the doors, my blood leaving a sick red trail, and deposited into yet another cell. The last person I expected to see comes to shut the door, with a disapproving frown on his old, evil face.

"Well, if you _wanted _your friend to be alright, this was certainly not the way to do it. You've doomed her." says the ever cruel President Snow, with a small smirk as he shuts and locks the door with a hollow metal _thud. _


	10. Chapter 10

Letters To Clove

Chapter 10

**Sorry I kept you all waiting for so long! I had a writer's block and then I was in China for two and a half weeks. But here it is! **

**On with the story! PS You guys are probably going to hate me for what I do to Clove...no, she doesn't die. Some argue it's worse...*dramatic voice* just kidding. But seriously, no hater reviews. Or flames. Wanna know what it is? Think of Peeta in Mockingjay. **

CLOVE'S POV

Pain. That's all I feel as I groan and attempt to sit up. It's almost impossible, though, because the entire right side of my body hurts like hell and this small movement makes black spots dance in my vision. It takes a few minutes to target where the agony is coming from, and when I do I panic. My shirt is dyed with red-my blood. I lift the sleeve to discover a gaping and bloody wound in my shoulder.

Dizzy and suddenly nauseous from seeing where I was shot, I rest my head again, staring silently at the white ceiling. I try to think clearly, sort out my thought, but it's hard because I think one of the guards may have hit my head with the butt of his gun.

Suddenly, it all slams back into my memory. Trying to escape. Being shot. Cato was shot, too, judging by the second gunshot that rang out as I lay surrounded by guards.

_We were so close. _This thought alone makes me want to cry. We would have escaped and survived. Gone back to 2. Lived peacefully. Why does the Capitol have to ruin everything?

Is Cato alright? I will never forgive myself if he's seriously hurt. I thought I saw his blood in the insanity of our escape attempt...which was how long ago, exactly? Either way, the blood could've been mine.

The cell is cold and harsh. It resembles a doctor's office, and I cringe. I have too many bad memories in places like this.

I shiver. How rude, the guards haven't left me a blanket. I'm freezing.

I jump as the metal door slams open. Against the will of my sore body, I tilt my head to try and see who it is. My heart drops into my stomach as I see two guards, flanked closely by President Snow.

Each guard grabs one of my arms and pulls me off the bed. I scream and fall to the ground, the pain in my shoulder unbearable. I feel fresh blood from the wound as they haul me up and drag me down the hall.

My surroundings tilt in and out of view, as I am dizzied by the agony. I can't see straight, so it's good there's the guards to tow me. I might as well be unconscious for the muscle effort I am putting in to walk. This seems to irritate the guards, because when we arrive at our room destination, they dump me onto a cold table with much more force than necessary and clear out quickly.

I turn and find myself staring into the eyes of the snake himself. President Snow, his eyes cruel and sadistic and evil. His white hair is disheveled, strangely, like he didn't sleep last night or something. Pity.

"Ah, Clove," he says calmly, like he's discussing the weather, "I see your wound isn't healing properly."

"I wonder why," I spit, scowling despite the pain of the injury and the violent pounding of my head that's obstructing my vision slightly.

He chuckles in a way that makes my blood run cold. "Oh, dear. That's no way to talk to your elders. You're going to pay for that."

I don't see the guard, but I feel the horrible shock he sends through me with a small metal prong.

The pain is unbelievable. I writhe and scream, but metal cuffs clamp around my wrists and hold me down. I can't see anything through the electricity that is shooting through my body.

Finally it stops, and I am left gasping for breath, a burn mark on my arm and the pain in my shoulder a thousand times worse than before. I bite back tears; I will _not _give Snow the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Now, Clove," he says, grinning maliciously. "What do you know about the rebels?"

"I-I..." I stutter, furious. I _still _knew nothing! What was his problem? "I _don't know_."

I shriek as the metal jabs me again, sending more unbearable shocks through my body. I lay panting and shaking.

He laughs again and says, "Oh, my. You're in for quite a long session."

CATO'S POV

I press myself against the wall, my fists clenched. Clove's been screaming for hours, and President Snow is torturing her for information she doesn't have-and he _knows _she doesn't have it.

Days pass. Agonizing ones. The pain in my leg is really nothing compared to the torture of listening to Clove's cries. The wound is shallow, anyways-it didn't hit bone, so it's nothing serious. Even more horrible is the droning buzz of an electric shock that is quickly followed by screams.

Then the day comes that's different then the rest. Snow's voice is low as he speaks to her, from rooms over, and I can't hear what he's saying. But I hear Clove as she shrieks, "No! Don't! Please!"

My blood runs cold. Something is up, something really wrong. And this thought is confirmed as her screams become more desperate and pain-filled than the past few days. I pound against the door for what seems like hours, pulling the knob as hard as I can even though I know I'll never be able to break it. I sink against the wall, trying not to let the sobs break out. I have to be strong, for Clove.

Then the screaming stops. I'm left to listen to an eerie silence, broken only by Clove's voice-but it's calm.

"What am I doing here?"

Why is it this way? What could have caused her to be calm and forget where she was?

What surprises me more is Snow's low voice, too low for me to hear, as he addresses her calmly. I can almost see her nodding as she says, "Oh, alright."

Then he says something else to her, and I hear a crash. "What? No, he wouldn't!"

There's a zapping sound, followed by more screams. Snow says, loud so I can hear him, "Take her back to her cell."

Minutes later, the door opens and Clove is dumped inside, gasping. I rush to her. "Clove?"

She's bleeding everywhere; there's a bloody bullet wound in her shoulder and knife cuts everywhere. Her arms are lined with burn marks, and she looks absolutely exhausted.

So I'm not expecting it when she shoves me away and scrambles backwards, a fearful look on her face. Then it turns to anger, and there's something not quite right about her eyes. They have an animal look in them; frightened, desperate, furious. And then she says the words that chill me to the bone and make my stomach lurch.

"Get away from me, you mutt."

**Lol I told you you'd hate me! I'm sorry, I just HAD to do it! Review and maybe I'll update sooner! **

**-Anna Marie, over & out. **


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